


A Useful Man

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: 1950s, Holodecks/Holosuites, Multi, Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-17
Updated: 2011-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christine loves the ship holodeck parties, especially when it means that McCoy wears a suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Useful Man

"God, I love these retro parties," Christine murmured, lifting the dregs of a cosmopolitan to her lips. She gazed around the holodeck, transformed to resemble a twentieth-century tavern, all heavy mahogany and gleaming brass accents. The sight of her fellow crew members dressed to the nines in fine, tailored suits and curve-hugging cocktail dresses also added to the extremely pleasant view.

Nyota chuckled warmly beside her. "Tell me about it. If I'd known Spock looked this good in a three-piece suit, I would have wrestled him into one sooner," she said. Christine grinned and openly admired her friend's jade green dress, cinched at the waist with a black belt. She was willing to bet Spock also had a high opinion of Nyota's outfit.

Just as Christine finished off her drink, the captain appeared at her side with a fresh one in hand. His blue eyes gleamed, set off by the dark brown pinstripe suit he'd chosen for the evening. "Need a refill, Chris?"

"To what do I owe this honor?" she asked, taking it gingerly from his hand. Jim smiled and shook his head.

"Compliments of the good doctor," he said. "I'm just the messenger."

"That explains why there's not another one for me," Nyota said, smirking as she sipped her own drink.

Christine just smiled to herself and swirled the pink liquid in her glass, determined not to look around searchingly for the man in question. "Is that right? I haven't seen him all night."

"He's around here somewhere."

She sipped at her new drink as she set her empty glass on the bar, about to question Jim some more when Sulu approached them. She noted the pilot's hand drifting down to the small of Jim's back, possessively guiding him in the direction Sulu wished for him to go.

"Mind if I steal this guy for a bit?" Sulu asked. Christine could tell from the look on his face that "a bit" translated to "the rest of the evening." She grinned and flicked her fingers at them dismissively.

"Go on," she said. "He brought me a drink; I'm all done with him now."

Jim sighed with mock sadness, making no move to slip away from Sulu's touch. "Outlived my usefulness by 22:00. Things aren't what they used to be, H."

"I'm sure we can find some other use for you, Jim."

No denying it—those two were adorable when they wanted to be. Christine shook her head amusedly as she watched them stroll away, Sulu's hand rubbing its way up and down Jim's spine. She considered her drink, then, and suddenly remembered who had sent it her way. A tingle of electricity seemed to transfer itself from the cool stem of the replicated cocktail glass to her fingertips. Christine turned, racking her brain for the right way to excuse herself from her conversation with Nyota; she blinked in surprise when she saw that Nyota had already migrated to another side of the room and now stood beside Spock, who was admiring his partner much more openly than usual. Nyota caught Christine's eye and gave her a knowing look, urging her to go and find McCoy with a wave of her hand. Christine supposed there was nothing stopping her now; she slid off her barstool, adjusted the hem of her pencil skirt and began to wander the room in search of McCoy.

It didn't take long. The light clicks of her nude-colored heels against the hardwood floor slowed as she approached the table where McCoy sprawled lazily in his chair, a dark beer in his hand and his knees spread apart. He, too, wore a perfectly cut suit, but the tie and shirt were just slightly rumpled, enough to remind her that he was still the gruff-talking man she knew and loved. His hair was perfectly slicked back and her fingers twitched at her sides with the thought of digging in there and messing it up, bunching the silky dark tufts in her hands and tugging hard as she sucked a bruise into his neck. A host of colorful images zipped through her mind all at once, and she had to pause to catch her breath.

"Hey, Chris," McCoy said, peering up at her with dark, mischievous eyes, as if he could just _tell_ what she was thinking. He took a sip of his beer, which left a light film of foam on his upper lip, but not for long—she followed the motion of his tongue closely as he licked it off. "Enjoying your drink?"

"Absolutely. But I could do with some company, too."

Two could play at this game. Christine set her glass down on the table and gracefully moved onto McCoy's lap, propping herself on the strong thigh of his outstretched leg. For a moment, she thought he might steer her away; he'd never been big on public affection, McCoy, and just because this was a party, he wasn't necessarily going to change his tune. She was fairly surprised when she felt McCoy's large hand on her hip, strong and sure, squeezing just enough to be possessive, to remind her that she was his. Christine shivered and tucked her body closer to his, wrapping her arms loosely around his shoulders and hooking her ankles together. They smiled indulgently to each other and Christine leaned close to nudge her nose against his warm, stubbled cheek.

"You look fantastic in this skirt," he murmured, his breath soft yet stout-heavy. "And goddamn, those shoes... You could kill a man like this, you know that?"

"You're much more useful to me alive." She smirked, thinking of Jim and Sulu's earlier banter, and pressed a cranberry kiss to his cheek. It left behind a smudge of lipstick that she hoped would end up on his collar before the end of the evening. "Tell you what: I'll keep them on for as long as you like tonight, if you wear that suit for me again some time."

"Honey, I'll wear it every night if you like it."

Christine smiled and kissed her way along McCoy's jaw, curling her hand around the fabric of his tie. "Mmm...not every night," she whispered. She flicked her tongue lightly against his earlobe and relished his answering gasp, the flex of his fingers bunching up her skirt as he held her tighter. She already had so many plans for him, starting with that lipstick on his collar and ending with every component of his sharp suit in a heap on the floor of his quarters.

On the other hand, Christine thought, as she tilted her head back to accommodate McCoy's roaming lips on her throat, she might have him leave the tie on. She tugged on it lightly and drew him even closer.


End file.
